Vanya's Ghost
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: Since moving to America, Ivan Braginsky felt less like he was living and more like he was simply existing. But when he takes a tumble down a well and comes across the skeleton of another poor soul who fell there, Ivan meets the ghost of Alfred, and in a twist of fate both help each other truly live again. RusAme inspired by the graphic novel Anya's Ghost.


**Vanya's Ghost**

Ivan could gauge how good a day it would be by how long his hair stayed clean. A good day was heralded by a lack of spitballs flying back and forth through the air, inevitably hitting him whether he was the original target or not. Ivan voiced ignored complaints about his classmates' poor aim as much as the juvenile act itself.

"I thought this childish stuff stopped after middle school," Ivan would sigh softly, large form hunched over his desk. Some teachers would send the perpetrators a look that could freeze molten lava, and the antics would stop. Others were so oblivious Ivan wondered how they had earned their teaching degree. In the case of either category, the unruly students were always careful to hide their spitball tubes in the thin cubby beneath their desks usually reserved for spare pencils. Those little tubes were their instruments of chaos, and could not risk confiscation.

Bad hair meant a bad day, both because of the need to detour to the bathroom to clean up, and because the concept of approaching Francis Bonnefoy with such a blatant flaw was borderline heresy. Ivan's graceful classmate with the lilting accent and regal features looked as if he had never existed for an instant with a single hair out of place. It was one of the many facts Ivan had noticed about him when English Composition failed to hold his attention…which had been often, lately.

Life did not have to be driven forward by companionship, but it was nice to have something to look forward to each day getting ready for classes.

Ivan did not mind classes by themselves. But his large figure- both height and width- made it necessary for him to sit near the back, so as not to obstruct anyone else's view. This grouped him in with the students who made no effort to conceal their disinterest in lessons, leaning across the aisles to speak in carrying whispers to one another. Finding it impossible to concentrate, Ivan had opted for listening to his peers instead, often glancing their way, hoping that by holding his gaze, he might be included in their conversations.

They never turned fully to speak to him, never fully addressed him, but Ivan did not stop trying. If he stopped, abandoned his attempts at inclusion, then being drawn into the group gossip would be impossible.

It was a tenuous balance to maintain, trying to stick his foot into the doorway of having a large friend group and taking in the lessons. And judging by the red letter scrawled on the paper before him, he was very nearly failing at maintaining that balance.

Literally.

Ivan sighed, broad shoulders rising and falling, leaning over to slip his test into his bag, dodging a projectile in the process.

Bad days could occur even without wads of damp paper stuck in his hair.

0o0o0

Some of the clouds parted in the draining monotony that was high school life every time Francis walked by. In those instances, it was almost easy to forget just how unengaging it was to be at this school. In those instances, it was worth coming here.

"Ivan, you're staring," Yao informed him. Sitting across from Ivan in the cafeteria, Yao's back was to Francis, but the young man did not need to turn to know exactly what had caught Ivan's attention.

"And?"

"And it reached uncomfortable levels," Yao said with finality, shifting so he obstructed Ivan's view. Ivan blinked, frowning sadly. With a sigh, he returned to his boxed lunch, carefully unloading the contents onto the table and unwrapping the small parcels. _Aaahhh_. At least lunch granted a reprieve, always ushered in with tasty, albeit cold and damp, _pelmeni_. The little meat dumplings were consistently well-received, even if they were something of a novelty in the cafeteria's sea of school-bought food. Even indulging in his food, Ivan did not miss the look of relief Yao wore when he saw his friend temporarily distracted from memorizing every detail about Francis- again.

It was unfortunate lunch could not last forever, because after washing down his _pelmeni_ with potato and cheese _pirozhki_ , Ivan found himself in something of a good mood. Without fail, however, at least one teacher knew the secret to souring his improved mindset.

Ivan thought that after some time, these people who were responsible for their education and shaping them into the adults they would become might learn to pronounce students' names right. No such luck, and unfortunately some (his English Composition teacher) insisted on roll call every day.

The very first day of class, Ivan had watched, stomach churning, as his teacher reached his name in the roster, watched his eyes narrow, lips moving soundlessly. "Eye-van…Brah…braw…jinsky?" Even without knowing the correct pronunciation themselves, his classmates had tittered with laughter and Ivan, at the time very new to the school, had felt his cheeks warm as he fought the urge not to sink under his desk.

"N-no, almost," he had said falteringly. "Ee-vahn Braginsky," he said slowly, helpfully.

The teacher had tried. And failed. And from that day forth, he was Ivan Brown. As soon as Yao learned of the story, he had taken to occasionally calling him Vanya Brown, deftly waving away Ivan's scowl each time.

His Polish classmate faired hardly any better. As annoying as Feliks was, Ivan rolled his eyes every time that same teacher grimaced when he reached Feliks's name. He got the first name down…close enough, but the first time he attempted Felik's last name, he came out as a slow, lumbering, "Look-as-eye-vich." When corrected on how to pronounce the first letter (and the rest of it), Feliks was granted the surname "Wukavich." And so it was.

This class had provided Ivan an excellent opportunity to master the art of making his bulky frame as small as possible in his seat, the better to be glanced over by his peers as, each day, heads swiveled to see the reaction of the new foreign kid every time his name was bungled. Sometimes he did choose this route- to attempt invisibility- and others he simply met them all with a smile that made his eyes resemble frozen chips of ice. The latter method worked well for getting people to look away; they did not anticipate eye contact when they looked to see his reaction. But some days he simply did not want to see their smug faces, their snide looks, their undeserved confidence. It was easy when you lived in a place all your life, had a name that rolled off the tongues of your peers with ease. It was easy when you did not have to leave everything you knew behind in an apartment across the world.

Today, Ivan tried the new approach of sitting tall in his desk, eyes focused on the teacher as something that was supposed to be his name was called. And all through it, he thought of Francis' easy grace, kept his mind focused on how easily he navigated the world. It worked well enough, letting Ivan march beyond the ogling of his peers at the time, but when the moment passed he was left once again reminded of what an outsider he was. At least, he reminded himself, he and Yao could be outsiders together. But even Yao had the advantage of being here so long he belonged- even on the outskirts. No one quite knew how to deal with Yao, but it still only took two syllables to say his full name.

For that, Ivan was grateful to have Yao in his corner of purgatory. And perhaps the monotony of English Composition made it all the more relieving to meet up with Yao in the hallway after the bell rang.

"Are you coming over?" Yao asked as they headed to their next class.

Ivan shook his head. "Iryna is bringing Natalya to recital. And I need to think of how to explain…this." The weight of his failed exam burned into Ivan's fingers as he clasped the paper.

Yao nodded sympathetically. If there was one thing they could agree on, it was the fallacy of English grammar rules.

Together, through verbal abuses against the English language, Ivan and Yao trudged through the rest of the day, exchanging a final departing wave as they headed in opposite directions.

Ivan usually liked the walk home from school; it offered him time to unwind, to enjoy the sounds of nature replacing the incessant babble of his peers and grating remarks of his teachers. The air was clean, the scenery vibrant, and most importantly of all no eyes peered at him as if he were some specimen under a microscope. It was a nice reprieve, but today it was tainted with remorse over his grade. He did not slack- and certainly did not enjoy such poor marks- but…sometimes the feeling of almost-isolation drained him too much for his studies to demand anything more from him. Ivan dreaded the looks of disappointment his family was likely to wear, the grimaces and sighs, the shaking heads and stern lectures. As the sun dipped below the trees, so too did Ivan's stomach as he recalled how back in Russia- back _home_ he had been almost at the top of his class.

Shades gauged lines across the sidewalk buttressed on one side by trees that had long since shed their emerald coats. Ivan sighed, cool breath ghosting passed his lips and glanced up-

Just in time to see, far down the street, Francis and a gaggle of friends and admirers, chattering away.

Ivan's legs moved of their own accord, feet hammering off the sidewalk and bringing him amongst the trees. Heart fluttering, he craned his neck as he walked on, the sight of Francis and his friends flashing in and out of focus between trunks. Wrenching his gaze away, Ivan walked on, skin tingling from more than the chilly air. Shoulders hunched, his stomach sank further still as, like a coward, he clambered among the trees and their elongated shadows, taking an uncomfortable but emotionally safe detour.

Great. Now he was failing his class and probably had tics on him. Ivan dragged his gaze up ahead of him, grimacing. Well, maybe it was cold enough most of the tics were-

Ivan took a step.

His foot met with empty space.

And through that empty space his body tipped, the world spinning out from under him, he off and away from it. His breath caught in his throat as Ivan crashed bodily down a hole, bumping and banging and finally landing in a heap over twenty feet below.

Everything hurt. The moan that came from his mouth, twisted in a grimace, reflected only a quarter of the jarring ache he felt as Ivan hesitantly moved his limbs. Nothing felt broken. But maybe he was too shocked to notice.

With a whimper he would deny ever making, Ivan slowly raised himself, turned himself onto his side, gasping. Through his watering eyes, Ivan saw that the area he had fallen into was round, lined with worn stones. A well. Fantastic. Now he was failing his class, had tics, and probably had a brain-eating bacterium. Maybe he would not have to attend anymore English Composition classes.

Ivan turned fully over onto his back. His eyes doubled in size.

He was not the first person to fall down this well.

Lying in a huddled heap not two feet from his outstretched legs was a skeleton, not a trace of flesh remaining on the pallid remains. Some remnants of clothes could be faintly seen, and Ivan was able to make out the dull glint of broken glasses lying by the skeleton's head. Ivan's lips pressed into a fine line as he saw his backpack hand landed right beside it. He did not mind sights of the macabre nature, but that did not mean he welcomed his possessions being strewn about human remains.

"I am sorry you came across this well too," he murmured, carefully retrieving his backpack.

"I'm sorry I didn't land as well as you did."

Mere minutes after falling through the air, Ivan now felt himself fly out of his skin as a voice chimed in, loud and clear, in his small hole in the world. Head snapping round, he searched on the ground for another person, another unfortunate soul who had made the mistake of walking through the woods.

Ivan had not expected to see an actual…an actual…soul.

In the gathering darkness of the well, the figure before him seemed dazzlingly bright, his entire being casting an ethereal pallor to Ivan's already pale skin. Ivan blinked, shaking his head, as if trying to shake away the mirage in front of him. But even before his eyes opened, Ivan could still make out that otherworldly glow behind his lids, and the young man floating- _floating_ \- in front of him remained as present as ever. The young man…the ghost, the delusion, the hallucination…beamed at him, as if nothing pleased him more than seeing Ivan. His tall form floated near the skeleton, pale eyes shimmering behind a pair of glasses- the same glasses lying shattered beside the bones. What had been tattered remains of fabric on the ground were, on the ghost, a thick, clean jacket one might see fighter pilots wear as they ascended into battle.

Ivan had not known he had moved until he felt the cold wall of the well against his back, heels scrambling for purchase to push him further and further away from the specter.

"Get away!" he called, trying to make his voice authoritative through the pounding of his heart and the ice in his veins.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The man before him raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of peace.

Ivan pressed further still against the stone wall, raising his backpack. "Get. Back," he growled, ready to beat this thing away if he had to.

The young man folded his arms. Raised an eyebrow. The gesture was so human, so natural, it threw Ivan. For a moment, he hesitated, still clutching his bag, but lowering it somewhat to get a better look at him. He seemed…young. Almost like he could have been one of Ivan's peers. There was a kind of desperate placation with how the ghost stared at Ivan, as if truly desiring nothing more than for him to be calm.

"Wh…who…"

"That's better." The ghost sighed. Could ghosts sigh? Again, such a natural human reaction of relief. "H-hey. Sorry to, uh, startle you. Probably should have thought things out better, but I was just so excited to see someone else! Another person to actually see and be seen by! Oh- I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. And boy am I glad to see you- and even more glad you didn't land how I did." The ghost, Alfred, grimaced, rubbing at his neck.

Ivan stared with wide eyes from over his backpack. "Alfred," he echoed dully. He inched further out from behind his bag. His eyes darted back and forth between Alfred and the bones. Mutely, he pointed to the remains. Alfred nodded. Slowly, Ivan emerged fully from behind his cloth shelter. Alfred seemed even more relieved.

"Ivan," Ivan said hoarsely.

"Ivan. Nice to meet you, Ivan!" Alfred glided over, hand extended. With great effort, Ivan kept himself from recoiling. Slowly, he too reached out. His fingers passed right through Alfred, leaving his flesh feeling chilled and clammy.

"Hah, psyche," Alfred crowed with a grin, waving his hand. "I may be real, but not quite real enough for a handshake. I can barely move the pebbles and dirt around down here. I moved that branch once- that took a bit of effort in the beginning, but when you have eternity to master something, you find a way, you know?" All this was said in an excited rush, as if he had been waiting every hour of every day for such company. Ivan barely managed a nod.

"I…you fell." Alfred nodded, almost encouragingly. "And you stay here?"

Something softened behind the glasses, turned sad even through the smile. "I can't go too far beyond my bones," he explained, nodding to the heap. "It's been…I don't even know how long. Decades. Decades of this little well."

Ivan's head spun. "I…I do not want to end up like that," he whispered, fear creeping cool tendrils down his spine.

"Hey, you didn't die from the fall. That's the first step!" Alfred seemed to try for a bracing smile, punching a fist in the air.

"I need to get out of here." Ivan did not feel in charge of his own body. His aching limbs lifted him into a standing position, guided him to peer up at the mouth of the well.

" _HELP!_ " Ivan's voice flew up, up the well, out of the treacherous opening, and into the quiet forest night. " _HELP! HELP ME!_ "

Alfred watched, situating himself to sit cross-legged over his bones, as Ivan bellowed over and over with growing desperation. He did not stop, hollering again and again in a wild bid for someone, anyone, to hear him, to save him from an eternity in true isolation, finally truly forsaken by all. Why had he wished he were invisible ever? How could he have wished to not be noticed? How was anyone supposed to help if they did not see or hear him?

"HELP ME!"

Alfred seemed to steel himself. "Listen," he began, floating closer to Ivan.

"I can't stay here," Ivan said wildly, looking at Alfred with wide eyes.

"I-I know that, big guy," Alfred began hesitantly. "But just know if by some chance things don't work out, I'll be here for-"

Faintly, Ivan heard it. Approaching footsteps. Confused voices. The piercing light of a flashlight.

"Here!" Ivan called, waving his soar arms wildly. His heart swelled with gratitude and relief. He was saved.

"It worked out," he said happily, turning to Alfred. "Just as I said."

"Happy for you, big guy," Alfred said gently, watching Ivan as, overhead, a couple worked out hurriedly what to do. One of them left to fetch rope while the other stayed and offered words of assurance. "Like I said, you lived. That's the important part."

"I am sorry it was not so for you," Ivan said earnestly, frowning. Once more his eyes drifted between Alfred and the bones. "Whoever let this just sit around unprotected should be horrified by what they have done to you." He did not know what drove him to offer these hard condolences; he certainly had never thought to plan what he might say to the tethered spirit of a departed human. But Ivan felt genuinely sorry for Alfred, for how easily his life had been ended by someone else's ignorance. As a rope was lowered down and Ivan took hold, he offered a last, lingering look to Alfred, lonely, phantasmal, yet still offering a soft, earnest smile just for Ivan. The corners of his lips tugging gently upwards, Ivan gave a final wave before beginning his climb.

0o0o0

As expected, his family fretted over Ivan's battered state and late arrival home. Under normal circumstances, he would have met such fussing with poorly repressed discomfort, never sure how to respond to being worried over, no matter how often his family did so. Today, every worried exclamation made the guilt weigh heavier and heavier in his stomach every time he recalled his poor performance.

Tired, humbled, and aching, Ivan trudged up to his room as soon as he could extricate himself from Iryna's probing hands searching for broken bones. Natalya was harder to distance himself from; still in her dance clothes, she neglected to change in favor of following Ivan up the stairs like a second shadow. Assuring her he needed time alone to clean up since he felt filthy, he was at last able to duck into the blessed privacy of his room. Though it was true, he felt quite dirty from the fall, Ivan crossed his room in three large strides, flicked on his lamp, and collapsed onto his bed, moaning into the sheets. His bag thumped dully onto the floor beside his legs dangling off the mattress.

Another muffled moan drifted from the sheets as Ivan curled onto his side, feeling much older than he was. He stared with tired eyes at his dresser, upon which sat a framed picture of him at the cosmonautics museum back in Russia. In the gentle golden light of his room, he could see his exhausted reflection floating ghost-like in the scene, like some ominous omen of the twist his life would take.

"Why are you so sad?"

For the second time today, Ivan felt himself fly out of his skin. In a rush of movement, he turned over, backing up instinctively.

Alfred's spectral form did not look quite as bright in the presence of his nightstand lamp, but it was no less stupefying to see. No less stunning.

No less real.

"What," Ivan breathed, even that single soft syllable sounding hoarse. He cleared his throat. "How…are you here?"

Alfred seemed always ready to offer a smile. There was something ironic in the warmth this ghostly figure tried to evoke. Ivan wondered idly if those lively smiles were compensating for Alfred's state of unliveliness.

"You moved one of my bones. One of them must be with you right now." His head dipped and bobbed inquisitively, searching for the stray piece of himself.

Through the aching in his muscles, Ivan patted his pants, dug into the pockets. Nothing. He pulled at his shirt, rustling the material, peering down expectantly to see anything fall out. Nothing.

Their eyes met.

As one, they looked to Ivan's bag. Silently, Ivan's hand fished around in the side pocket of his backpack, fingers barely dipping into the opening before brushing against something hard. A tremor traveled from his fingertip through every nerve of his body, stiffening his entire being. Heart fluttering, Ivan withdrew the bone, holding out in his palm for all the world to see.

Alfred drifted close, his pale shimmering face mere inches from Ivan's hand.

"Well, look at that."

"I am sorry," Ivan murmured, voice sounding distant to his own ears. He felt dazed, mildly surprised that he had not bolted from the house yet. Perhaps shock was setting in.

Alfred looked at him as though he thought Ivan was quite mad. "Don't be!" he exclaimed. "This…this is the greatest thing that could have happened!" In a rush of excitement, he flew across the room, hands thrown up happily. He zipped back and forth, flitting around to examine Ivan's small quarters and personal possessions. "This is the most of the world I've seen in I don't even know how long! Decades!" Alfred sent a sunny grin to Ivan's wall calendar bearing pictures of sunflowers. "These are the most colors I've seen! Not just dreary browns and greys. Look at how bright and beautiful everything is!"

"It's just a room." Again, that faint and fading tone. Ivan cleared his throat.

"Just a room? Ivan, you have the whole world." Alfred sent him an imploring look, as though desperate for Ivan to understand.

"And what a great world it is." As more of his sense of self returned to him, Ivan felt a flicker of agitation flare up within him. "One day in my annoying school with my rude classmates, and you will long for that well again."

Alfred folded his arms, eyebrows raised. "That a bet?"

"It is a promise." Ivan crossed his bedroom to stand beside Alfred. "You had quiet down there. And no one to judge you when they cannot even pronounce your name."

Concern flashed in Alfred's eyes. "You're not going to send me back, are you?" For the first time that evening, Alfred's voice sounded like the transient whisper Ivan would have expected from a ghost.

Ivan stared. "What else can I do?"

Alfred floated down so he and Ivan were level. "Let me have some time out here?" Ivan could not tell the color Alfred's eyes had been in life, but they were wide now, pale, and pleading. He imagined he had given that same look when he learned he would be leaving Russia.

Averting his gaze, Ivan shifted from foot to foot. He could feel a strange coldness emanating from Alfred. Without answering, Ivan raised a hand and experimentally waved it through Alfred.

"Hey!"

Intrigued, Ivan repeated the action, hand swiping through Alfred's torso in and out, then staying there, stretching his fingers through the misty spirit.

"Hey! Knock it off!"

"It feels cold," Ivan noted, as one might note a color change in a chemistry experiment.

"No duh."

"I do not like cold."

Alfred rested a semi-transparent hand atop Ivan's wrist. His skin tingled, pale hairs raising along his arm.

"Then stop."

Ivan nodded, eyes resting on the point of contact…or, as close to contact as they could have. Slowly, his gaze came to rest on Alfred, taking in the scrunched brow, tilted head, pursed lips that even now seemed to be curling up at the edges.

"If you really want to stay for a bit, fine. But it is your loss."

Who knew the smile he received from a ghost would be the one most full of life Ivan had ever seen?

0o0o0

"Ivan, you look like a ghost."

Ivan stared with the same darkening look that had dawned across his features moments ago. Alfred regarded him with interest, floating in front of him in the room that doubled as homeroom and Biology class. He waited for an answer, but Ivan's face only grew paler and eyes more shadowed. The few students who had been staring unabashedly turned away as his expression turned darker still. Alfred had just opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when the teacher instructed everyone to put their bags away and take out only a pencil.

Oh.

"So, exams are still awful," Alfred noted as the teacher began handing out the exam, passing right through Alfred and shivering.

Ivan sent his paper a look that could burn a whole straight through his desk into the floor. If only. Eyes narrowed, he searched vainly through his reservoir of knowledge. He had studied in the past, and had intended on going over the concepts that had eluded him up to this point, but last night had left him drained and distracted, and he had found more interest in letting the sight of Alfred zipping around his room with abundant enthusiasm lull him to sleep.

But now this would be another twist on the rack for him.

Head bowed, Ivan did not immediately see Alfred quietly drift off up and down the rows of desks, leaning over students' shoulders and squinting at answers. Only when he felt a shiver travel down his spine did Ivan remember his ghostly companion.

"A, C, C, A, B, B, D."

Ivan's head snapped up. His classmates, heads bowed over their own tests, did not noticed the unintelligent stare he sent Alfred. Alfred, for his part, rolled his eyes, smirking. "Start writing, Ivan. A, C, C…"

Not daring to believe his luck, Ivan began filling in answers. Among the ones he knew, the answers Alfred provided fit. And among the ones he had been unsure of, seeing the correct choice made sense to him based on what he remembered. Before Ivan knew it, he had finished with five minutes to spare. He spent that time in stunned silence, eyes roving up and down the pages as Alfred looked on in amusement.

"Pencils down."

 _I'm going to pass_ , Ivan realized as he handed his test in. As everyone jumped to their feet, Ivan's eyes found Alfred's beaming face.

 _Thank you_ he mouthed.

Impossibly, Alfred's smile grew, and he gave Ivan the thumbs up.

0o0o0

"Now you will see what I meant," Ivan murmured quietly, head bent so others would not easily see his lips moving. "Life is better in that well."

"Or afterlife." But Alfred did not look remotely convinced. He watched the noisy antics of Ivan's classmates like it was a grand sporting event, with the same captivated awe one might view the pageantry of an Olympic ceremony. Ivan could not share the sentiment, not when the more troublesome of the group was digging around subtly in their desk cubby for their straws to launch spitballs. Ivan, in turn, reached instinctively for a notebook to shield himself, while the teacher continued writing on the chalkboard.

The firing squad commenced their work. Shields went up, heads bent down, wads of moisty paper went flying. And all the while Ivan's smile grew more and more plastic, artificial. Dangerous.

Alfred frowned, looking between Ivan's tense form, to the group of offenders. Slowly, his eyes traveled from their straws to the teacher.

Again, Ivan lost track of Alfred as the other fell into his own subdued scheming. Vaguely, he heard Alfred give a thoughtful hum, then a sharp breath. Ivan looked up in time to see his look of intense concentration, before Alfred zoomed across the room, face twisted, hands outstretched.

His target inhaled. Blew into the straw. Mustering all his concentration, Alfred flew into the raised hand, teeth gritted, as he focused every ounce of his being onto moving the limb before him.

It worked.

Though he still passed right through the hand, he had strength enough to push it away, alter course, change target.

Right for the teacher.

In a swirl of spinning skirt and fiery glare, the teacher spun round, eyes landing right on the offender.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," she snapped, heels clicking as she marched over. "Out of my classroom. Now. You can explain to the principal why you're in his office. Take that bit of trash with you. I'll let him confiscate it formally."

Ivan raised his eyebrows at Alfred, curled in the air with silent laughter. Dabbing at his eyes, Alfred slowly calmed down enough to notice Ivan's staring. When their eyes met, Ivan's face split into a smile unlike any he had worn since coming to America.

0o0o0

"Alfred, come here."

Ivan had never gone home from school with his spirits so lifted, with such a bounce in his step and a light in his eyes. But today, departing for home, he felt as if he could leap from the ground and join Alfred's gentle soaring several feet up.

At home, now, he was sprawled on his bed, blinds open, letting the light pour in onto his own warm smile. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this lightness of the heart, this freedom from nasty pangs of anticipation and annoyance. It left Ivan feeling untethered and free.

Like how Alfred likely felt when he was able to move from the well.

"What things do you like?" Ivan asked sharply, sitting up as Alfred sat down.

"What things do I like?" Alfred laughed at Ivan's bluntness. "A lot of things. Apple pie. Baseball. Going to the beach. All of this." He gestured grandly around Ivan's room. Ivan continued to stare expectantly at him, unblinking. "I like…well, I liked flying kites and building model planes. If my eyesight wasn't so bad, I would have wanted to be a pilot. Actually, I always thought I would just try and go for it anyway."

"Flight?" Ivan's eyes rested on the poster for the cosmonautics museum. "What about space travel?"

And that was how Ivan ended up rummaging through the family's collection of books- some unpacked, some still boxed up- until he found a book on astronomy and space exploration. Once more, Ivan lounged on his bed, the evening sunlight casting gold swatches of color across his outstretched legs and broad shoulders, piercing Alfred's silvery glow into something dimmer, calmer, no less mesmerizing. The two of them peered down at the opened book before them, the glossy pages retelling man's endeavors to pierce the heavens and be swathed in inky black and dusty white. Ivan glanced between the elaborate, colorful pictures and Alfred's own excited grin, his mounting wonder palpable in the air with every gasp, every point of the finger, every demand for an explanation.

"People are pretty great," Alfred sighed happily as Ivan turned the page.

"Some, yes." Upon Alfred's signal, Ivan turned the page once more.

"Leave it open on this page." Across both pages was an image of the first moon walk.

Rolling his eyes, Ivan smiled dryly and nodded, rising from the bed to lay the book out flat on his dresser. Alfred winked in thanks.

"For continued viewing pleasure."

"I could leave it open to Sputnik or Luna 1 and 2," Ivan suggested with a smirk. The gesture felt strange yet welcome on his own face.

Alfred shook his head, waving away the offer. "Nope. That one is perfect, Ivan."

Ivan returned to his bed, notebooks strewn on the bottom of the mattress. "What do you want to do now?"

"I'm good for now, big guy. Thanks. This is the most excitement I've had in one day for awhile." Alfred glided along inches above the floor, looking as energized as he had when the day began.

Ivan hesitated.

"What's up, big guy?"

In a bitter twist, Ivan unfortunately did not exist in shades of silvery blue-white, and so the blossoming of pink that colored his cheeks was easily visible.

"Ah," he began hesitantly, feeling warm. Maybe he should walk through Alfred. "Could you…help with my English homework?" It suddenly felt like summer in his bedroom, and under the pretense of checking his closet, Ivan did indeed walk through Alfred in an attempt to cool down.

"Can do!"

Ivan's shoulders slumped defeatedly as he returned to his bed, and books. Though he had been learning the language back home, his mastery felt elementary amidst so many native speakers, and his stubbornness had refused to even entertain the idea of a tutor.

But Alfred was patient. His help did not have the defeating taste of a tutor, nor the discouraging bite of red spidery handwriting declaring a poor grade. He had Ivan attempt to answer before stating what it was, and explaining the reason each time. Ivan's stomach churned with something not unpleasant, and only by the end did he realize it was gratitude. Someone in this bizarre land across the world had made him feel grateful.

"Thank you for this, Al-"

"Thanks for not sending me back," Alfred cut hurriedly across. It was such a stark contrast to see his normally smiling disposition clouded by a look of worry.

Ivan stared. "Of course not." His voice was earnest as he spoke, shook his head. "I…I could not, not now that you have seen all of this." Slowly, his eyes inspected his room, so unassuming a space, yet such a source of excitement for Alfred. Maybe Ivan had come to see his room as a well. But Alfred, having truly existed in that whole in the earth for so long, was more able to see things for how they were.

"Maybe we can both give each other something," Alfred said slowly. He knelt on the mattress. "If you're okay with it…I'd really like to stick around more, see what life has to offer after all these years. And in return, I could…"

"Be here." Ivan blinked, throat constricting, eyes over-bright. "Be here, do this again, what we did today."

Slowly, the gnawing worry slid from Alfred's face to be replaced by a dazzling smile. "Can do, Ivan."

This time, it was Ivan to extend his hand. This time, it was Alfred to pass through Ivan with the same musically contagious laughter.

"Call me Vanya."

THE END

This oneshot was inspired and heavily influenced by the graphic novel _Anya's Ghost_ by Vera Brosgol, in which Anya Borzakovskaya deals with feelings of isolation in her American high school as the member of a family of Russian immigrants. Things take a turn for her when, upon falling into a well and happening upon a skeleton, she meets and befriends Emily Reilly, the ghost of the girl who fell into the same well as Anya. The two offer each other something neither had on their own; Anya helps Emily experience life again and shatters the monotony of her life in the well where she died, and Emily helps give Anya some happiness in her uncomfortable life at school.

There's much more to the story than that, with some interesting twists and glimpses into how humans interact and live with and through each other. For now, this is going to be a oneshot. I would like to continue and follow Ivan and Alfred's tale more, but if/when I do, that will be much later. For now, I shall leave it as a oneshot, declared unfinished, until I continue or decide with surety that I am done with it. And as orang3lover on tumblr suggested, I'd like to pursue writing it with the nyotalia characters too.

This was for the RusAme autumn event on Discord, advertised on tumblr. Happy reading, happy Halloween, and thanks for your time! Feedback is welcome!


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